


Into the battlefield with a flower bouquet

by fish_wifey



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Third Years as First Years, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 00:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7486797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fish_wifey/pseuds/fish_wifey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Komi likes to take naps, and Sarukui isn't here for that. When the growing conflict between them drives Komi to challenge Sarukui to a fight, it's up to the other Fukuroudani first years to make them stop.</p><p>Then Shirofuku Yukie has an <i>idea</i>.</p><p>((set in first year))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the battlefield with a flower bouquet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misscocokat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misscocokat/gifts).



> Yo! This goes with the 'stupid boys doing stupid things' prompt, as well as a few other themes. I like the thought of 'frenemies with benefits' (benefits being tame here), and the ‘you wanna go!? You wanna make out?? Lets hold hands motherfucker’ prompt post (which I couldn't find anywhere =,=).
> 
> I had an incredible time creating this. The owls are such fun to explore and get into, and I can only hope that you will enjoy it :)

The bike shed is a peaceful and silent place in the afternoon sun.

 

Haruki has a few ideas how fate has played him. To make him come here, actually walk over to the bike shed, hang his grey school blazer on the handlebar of a bike which wasn’t his, and loosen his tie. He rolls his sleeves up for good measure, eyes on the prey right in front of him, who doesn’t take any precautions. Walking up to Sarukui had never felt this charged, and he can’t wait to make him sing a different tune, or shut up entirely.

Shutting up is what they’re both gonna do, in a few minutes. 

*~*~*

_One day ago_

After a few weeks of getting to know Yamato, only a few of his classmates can slowly start to recognize when he’s angry. His brows would crease and his eyes would squint at the offensive object or person. Shoulders tight, and one leg in a nervous fit, he’d try to make an immobile object do his bidding, or gain attention from the human being who crossed his path. His line of sight directs itself one row to his left, and two chairs ahead. Yamato still found it nonsense for someone like Komi to have surpassed him at the entrance exams. As far as he could tell, Komi Haruki’s and his places should be reversed. 

Sleeping behind a standing book, Komi wasn’t even listening to the monotone onslaught which was their World History class, their teacher currently droning on about the many wars in Europe. One of Yamato’s eyes starts twitching. He’s no snitch, but he would like to get Komi kicked out of class for his blatant misbehaviour. 

Making quick notes of countries who hated each other and the years of battle on one side of his notebook, Yamato rips off a square piece of paper from the other side. He writes in neat lettering ‘Sleeping is for weaklings, how about you do something useful!?’ and then crumples the paper. It gains the attention of a few chair neighbours, of which a friend from middle school who, eggs him on to throw it. A glance towards their old teacher, a keen eye for trajectory, and Yamato pulls his arm back to throw the ball of paper against Komi’s head.

“Wh-where what!?” Komi jumps awake, holding his table, and saves his falling book with his feet in a quick reaction. Half the class starts giggling as they watched it happen, and the teacher looks up from his notes. 

“Komi-kun, Sarukui-kun, please stand outside.”

Yamato ignores the killer eyes glaring at him when he makes his way to the door. His long legs move faster than Komi’s shorter ones, and he’s the first one out, ignoring the growing danger from behind. He hadn’t thought the teacher had noticed, but he’d deduced correctly who woke Komi up. The old man should thank him.

“What the fuck, hey?” Komi closes the door behind him after his outbreak, arms twisted on his chest. His face is set in irritation from being woken up, ridiculed, and send out of class. Yamato has seen this face day in and day out ever since they both joined the club; for reasons only short people can understand, Komi had given everyone a head taller than him the stink eye since day one. Basically the whole club. 

Standing back to the classroom and eyes looking out through the window and over the adjoining school building, Yamato ignores the fuming boy next to him. It’s Komi’s own fault, after all. 

“Asshole.” Throwing Yamato’s own note at his head, Komi acts surprised when the message writer catches his own message. Yamato uncurls the ball of paper, warm from Komi’s palm. 

“Did you even read it?”

“While being send out of class? Hell no. Besides,” Komi stands with his shoulders against the classroom, one foot against it and his hands in his pockets. The epitome of badassery and delinquent posing. Absolute despicable, in Yamato’s eyes. “It’s from you. Can only be some nerdy bullshit or an insult.”

“You’re the only one insulting others all the time, Komi.”

“They deserve-”

“You two, stop it or go to the dean.” The door opens and their class rep pokes her little head out. She’s the same height as Komi, and equally dangerous if the mood calls for it. For a second, Komi seems in the mood to get in her face and challenge the authority, but he thinks better of it. He’s sometimes smart enough not to pick two fights at once. The girl huffs and closes the door, leaving the two of them alone. 

“Stop acting up in class.” Yamato mumbles, not looking at Komi or listening to his reaction.

*~*~*

It wasn’t as if Haruki picked fights with all the world all the time. Trouble came looking for him, spotting his coppery brown hair from a distance. All it took was one look for Haruki to interpret annoyance, and the tumult would start. He’d grown up according to the ‘eat or be eaten’ rules. Especially as he aspired to be a high-class libero in the world of giants, he had to stand his ground.

One of these giants was Sarukui Yamato. Right off the bat, Komi had found all the new first years rivals. It didn’t matter that they wanted to be spikers or blockers. In his book? They all looked down on him. Bokuto had joked that it was the only way _to_ look, and Washio had the guts to hold Haruki down from decking the bouncy and cheeky kid. Washio, for all his height, was the least insufferable of the bunch. Bokuto wasn’t so bad once you got to know him.

The guy pissing him off nearly once a week was Sarukui. 

The nerd never was late, had all his homework in order, and never scored below 70% in tests. On top of all things bad, they were in the same class, and Haruki had to endure him way too many times a day. He nagged a lot, acted like he knew everything, and as if it wasn’t enough, targeted Haruki. 

At least during practice, no one had the upper hand in anything, and they managed to work well together when it called for it. Haruki couldn’t manage not passing to Sarukui when the defense and offense demanded it, and more often than not, Sarukui would be in a good spot for a 2-touch strike; Haruki received, Sarukui spiked direct without a setter needed, and Konoha was happy not to have to toss a ball since he sucked at it. Everyone happy, even Haruki, who was petty enough not to acknowledge the points Sarukui scored. 

After today’s incident however, Haruki had had it. He made sure not to team up with Sarukui during practice, and he made doubly sure to receive every ball that came for him, especially Sarukui’s hits. There was nothing better than getting payback on the court. Besides, Haruki had grown used to Sarukui’s unhappy face towards him, and could easily tell when the other was freaking pissed off. That constant smile did nothing to diminish those facts. 

Nonetheless, it was there and wouldn’t go away. In fact, Haruki thought it was a degrading sort of smile only stupid people who act tough do. Who else would have such a grin on his face all the time, while claiming not to be smiling!? Haruki had made it a rule not to believe what the monkey face was saying. Sarukui is up to no good, he knows it, and it becomes a reality during the last practice set their teams play against each other. Haruki, slapping his own chest and battle ready, bows his legs to receive the next serve. The current rotation is on Sarukui, after all, and he can’t miss this. 

The serve, like the boy, are dirty. The ball threatens to fall short in front of Haruki, whose dive isn’t perfect, but working enough to keep the ball in the air. Two opponents approach from either side of the court lines, ready to spike, and Haruki allows the blockers to mark each. The milliseconds spent waiting, he watches Sarukui’s run up, and expects a pipe. Which never comes; Sarukui did the run up as a decoy to distract him, and Haruki fails to receive the feint pulled by one of the attackers. 

Point scored, the opponents huddle. Haruki doesn’t hear his own side’s words of encouragement. He watches Sarukui, who is hidden behind the huddle of third year and second year players. When they’re about to continue, Sarukui going for another serve, stays still to look at Haruki, that blasted grin on his face widening. 

Haruki is livid.

*~*~*

He hears the stomps. Hell, everyone always hears the stomps. It’s the number one warning of ‘run while you can’, but Yamato isn’t intimidated by a midget half his size. Dressed in his Fukuroudani track suit post practice, thanking everyone for their hard work, he has his bag slung around his chest, and walks to the entrance gates. Other people start whispering, and he ignores it.

And then comes the one man stampede. Komi jumps in front of him, face worse than usual, and fuming through his nose. 

“You, me. Tomorrow afternoon after class, at the bikeshed. I’m gonna beat you up.”

Taken aback by the threatened violence, Yamato keeps his hands in his pockets, one brow up. What Komi did in his free time was his choice, but Yamato didn’t want any part of it. He doesn’t like conflicts, even though he might have acted as such today. 

“I don’t wanna.” He says, imitating and mocking Komi’s impolite speech. Yamato hears how other team members flee the scene or catch up to where they stand. Going home, eat, have a bath, eat his grandmother’s yogurt dessert… that’s what Yamato wants. Not being challenged by this guy to do unsightly things. It’s not just the lack of wanting to fight; it’s also the lack of skill. Yamato has never been in a fight that went beyond two or three pushes, and that was back when he was in kindergarten. When he wasn’t taller than everyone else and didn’t know his own strength. 

“There’s little to want when I punch you!” Komi takes a step forward, not stopped this time by Washio’s interference. His words spit over the restraining arm, and Washio struggles against the hold. If Washio has difficulty holding back Komi, then what is Yamato supposed to do?

“Guys, come on. You’d get in trouble for this.” Konoha bemoans, not wanting any part of issues he hasn’t caused. He stands still out of some sort of comradeship to Yamato; they were good at teasing Komi front to back during runs and block drills, in which even the liberos had to participate before the official training camps. Konoha keeps his safe distance from Komi, standing a little off behind Washio. “Didn’t you throw an apple at that second year soccer vice captain today, Komi? You could be suspended, you know?”

“Like I give a damn. If people want trouble, I’ll give it to them.” Komi spins around Washio to face Konoha, who has to put his other arm out and defend another person. Washio doesn’t speak often, but when he does, Komi listens. 

“No one wants to trouble you. It’s all in your head.” Washio says, and for a second it looks like Komi’s shoulders sink.

Of course neither Konoha and Yamato can hold back their own thoughts. 

“Yeah, in that pea-brain of yours.” Snickers Konoha, making sure he’s out of the aerial space in which Komi throws his roundhouse kicks. 

“He slept during World History today, of course he doesn’t know of the common courtesy of gentlemen and their wars. Always picking fights with everyone over nothing… Of course that tires little people out.” Yamato adds, his head tilting to the side. He knows he’s not yet out of danger, and that his continuous attacks against Komi today on the court must have heated the libero up. It’s just so hard to stop talking and stating simple facts. Washio has to bend his knees and loop his arms around Komi, who decides that Yamato is the closest enemy to attack. Backing out of the danger zone, Yamato holds his hand up in apology, while Washio sighs, widening the distance between them. 

“Hey hey hey, what are you guys doing?” Bokuto’s hair is wet, flat, and dripping everywhere when he comes, with Shirofuku, their first year manager, trailing behind him. Both Yamato and Komi groan when he shakes his hair, drops of water flying towards them. Konoha informs the newcomers of Komi’s plans of actions, and the stupidity of it. After a while, Washio let’s go of Komi, but keeps his fingertips on the other’s shoulders to warn him. 

“Fighting, really.” Shirofuku drawls, boredom and dislike sounding through her voice. Komi tries to get to Yamato again, and she interferes with an idea so strange and out of this world, that all five boys stare at her. Washio forgets his peace-maker duties, hands falling to his sides. The words from Shirofuku sound so impossible that she has to repeat them. “I said~ How about kissing?”

Bokuto snorts, and Komi’s ears redden. The occurrence of facial colouring doesn’t even happen when he’s angry, and it catches Yamato off guard. He cannot remember having seen Komi ever blush before. Then he mumbles ‘come again?’, as if he hadn’t heard her the first two times. 

“K-i-s-s-i-n-g.” Shirofuku spells out, her index fingers dancing in the air. “I’m sure none of you boys has problems with their masculinity, or would feel your sexuality threatened. Kissing is the easiest, most silent, and most harmless way to get your issues out of the world.”

“I’ve never heard any issues being solved by kissing-” Konoha’s face looks strange, as if he’s envisioning past quarrels he had being resolved that way. Yamato is sure she must be joking. Komi, the same, grunts and takes off, not wanting to hear more nonsense being thrown his way. The rest of them follow, Konoha and Bokuto badgering Shirofuku and her strange ideas. They catch up to Komi in no time. 

They have to go the same route for about 2 minutes once they’re through the school gates before they have to split, and Shirofuku keeps teasing the boys, mostly Komi. She makes full use of those 2 minutes, calling Komi names like ‘weak’ and ‘unconfident’. Yamato hasn’t heard of Komi having beef with girls ever, and wonders if Shirofuku is safe as she goes on. 

At the road where they split ways, Yamato gets a weird rumble in his stomach, which isn’t the need for food or feeling sick from Komi’s threats. Shirofuku, close to her breakthrough, keeps pestering until Komi shouts at her for having stupid ideas which make no sense. 

A pacifist at heart, Yamato can’t take it. He’s not sure what he’s doing, or why his mouth opens, but he just wants it all to stop.

“Okay.”

Komi rounds on him, and Yamato doesn’t feel scared for a second. “Okay!? What do you mean, ‘okay’, huh?”

“Yes, I said alright. I’m not afraid of kissing. Are you?” Knowing what his standard expression looks like, Yamato knows how much he has to push his cheek up his face in order to make his grin dirty. His eyebrows slacken, a sudden calm coming over him. He knows he won an argument when he sees Komi’s shoulders untense below his jacket. None of the others laugh or say a word, keeping an airtight silent. Even Bokuto’s lips are pressed together in anticipation. Komi’s eyes are wide, tumultuous.

“ _Me_ , being afraid? You wish.” Komi grins too, agreeing. He doesn’t need to say the time and place again. Everyone disperses after the high tension agreement, and Yamato makes his way home. Once he’s on the last stretch towards his grandparent’s house, full understanding of what he’s going to do tomorrow reaches his system, and he stops in his tracks, whispering.

“Shit. I’m going to kiss Komi tomorrow.”

*~*~* 

_Today_

There’s a slight discomfort when Komi undresses and rolls up his sleeves, as if he’s still attempting to work out issues through violence. He even cracks his knuckles, making Yamato sway from one foot to the other for a better footing. Reasons to be scared vanish when Shirofuku leans forward from where she’s standing between Bokuto and Konoha. Neither of the two boys wanted to be present; Bokuto always rushed to practice without any other thought in his head, and Konoha had said he didn’t need to see two teammates going at it. Together with Washio, they were only here to make sure Komi wouldn’t go back on the deal he and Yamato agreed on yesterday evening.

Problem solution through kissing. Yamato has never heard of it, but it sounded better than anything else, including apologizing to Komi or trying to sit him down and talk. He had confidence in his abilities, and made his shoulders relax and his head face a little upwards. Yamato wasn’t afraid of this, yet couldn’t hold down the nervous ripples in his stomach. Fingers uncurling from a fist, he waits until Komi walks over.

“You ready for this?” Komi asks, his voice laced by irritation and something else. The tip of his ears tint red, and Yamato wonders if Komi is more uncomfortable with this than he’d like everyone to know. He acts tougher than he should be for sure. Yamato, ready to teach him a lesson, opens his tie up a little and pushes it down with his index finger, one corner of his mouth going upwards, saying yes. 

“Waiting for you,” he swallows the word midget, but not quite the tease. “Can you even reach?”

“Guys,” Washio starts, and then is silenced when Komi steps back, runs, and gains momentum to jump Yamato. The surprise opens Yamato’s mouth when Komi’s crashes into him, and he has to catch the small boy and hold down all this power from the jump. 

The kiss happens, for real, when Yamato puts Komi down, leaning his own upper body over him to return the favour. He chooses to close his eyes, to tilt his head, and show Komi who is boss. Challenged by the jump-hug, Yamato lets his tongue tease over Komi’s lips and makes them opening up for him. His fingers, steady, splay across the small back of Komi’s white shirt, and once Komi’s hands are on his neck, he relaxes into the kiss. 

As their lips are locked and tongues roam free, their teammates and managers leave. 

Concentrating on making Komi admit defeat through the kiss, Yamato hears parts of what Konoha says as he walks away, about solved differences and Shirofuku’s peace making tactics. Komi bites his bottom lip as soon as they’re all alone and no other sound but their lips brushing and rustling fabrics keep them company. He doesn’t mind kissing Komi, who’s more force and random licks than having any technique. It’s enough to keep Yamato going, to hold Komi tighter and teach him how to kiss properly. Keeping his eyes closed, he checks Komi’s ears, thumbs stroking over them, feeling the heat. Against his body, Komi buckles, small sounds escaping between their mouths and shared breaths. 

Yamato smiles, thinking he found out one of Komi ticklish spots. 

When they part, Komi’s face is red all over. His general annoyance softens, and his dark brown eyes seem hazy through his light eyelashes. Yamato remembers where his hands are and withdraws them, needing to look elsewhere but Komi’s open mouth. 

“Tch, not bad. I’d thought you would be super bad because of your monkey mouth.” Komi grumbles, less heat or emotion layering his words. Yamato glances back to him, head facing left, eyes to the right.

“I’d stop talking shit about other people’s mouths if I’d had my first kiss with them, if I were you.” He says, daring.

Komi rubs the back of his head, flustered once more. He curses, but not to Yamato. He’s also not denying Yamato’s statement. Then he walks back to the bike where he left his stuff and takes them back, heading towards practice. Before he’s out of sight, he looks back over his shoulder, telling Yamato to hurry up. 

“You coming?”

Feeling more at ease, Yamato huffs a laugh and follows, able to walk side by side Komi without further incidents. 

*~*~*

Whenever Komi starts fights, Washio appears to form a wall, Konoha distracts the people who pissed him off, while Bokuto forming and even louder diversion. It’s Yamato’s duty to pull Komi away, and shut his mouth in the most effective ways. Today’s location of trouble was the entrance at the school canteen, during recess. They had lunch together and were about to head back to their first year’s corridor, when a member of the baseball club happened to ram Komi’s shoulders and whisper something offensive in his general direction. 

Yamato hadn’t been allowed to sigh, their bond dictating to encircle Komi before he could throw the first punch. Bokuto’s and Konoha’s distraction worked wonders, and Washio was tall enough to intimidate anyone and have the attention drawn to him. 

Hands holding his small waist, Yamato presses Komi against the wall of the outside building, hidden behind garbage and trees. No one comes here, and they stand far enough away not to smell anything. Lately, Yamato has become the to-go-to resolution to solve Komi’s attack-ready personality. Konoha mentioned the other day that Komi is a lot calmer than before, although he’s still a fired up canon. Not so bothered by it now that Komi pays more attention in class and makes sure to be on time for everything, Yamato allows these kisses and gives his body up for the good cause. Besides, Komi tells him to be at certain places before school starts, so they can make out for a few minutes.

Yamato has become Komi’s sedation drug, his kisses a way to unlight the short fuse. 

The kisses have gone on for a week now, the first one which started it all only 8 days ago. Neither of them were able to say why kissing each other felt so good, or why they weren’t bothered by the fact they were both guys without any notable interest in each other. Yamato, perhaps, could admit he liked having Komi pressed against a wall or a tree, and letting their lips brush. It calms his nerves as well, and he feels a lot more relaxed before practice. The club activities became more fun too, now that he didn’t have to worry about Komi acting out.

They never talked about it. Never questioned doing this out of pure selfish need. 

Komi’s kisses have become more skilled, although they still have this initial confidence breach and the beginner’s aggressiveness. Biting his lip to indicate a pause or just to mess around, Komi’s teeth nibble at Yamato’s bottom lip long enough to make Yamato stop licking the underside of his top lip. Pausing, Komi looks away, his hands on Yamato’s chest and arm. 

“Sakai is a dick. He’s really asking to get his ugly face punched.” He grunts, subdued anger keeping his voice neutral. Yamato doesn’t sigh or do anything to agitate him. There’s a few tricks to keep Komi happy and trapped in his arms, and one of them he deploys right now; Komi had been ticklish at the ears before, but he would lean into it when they weren’t kissing. Funny side effect, which Yamato starts to like more every time. 

“He’s pissed because the baseball team training won’t let the first years join practice matches yet.”

“No need to take his frustrations out on me!” Komi argues, heated but not struggling. Yamato can’t help smiling genuinely at the face below his. 

“Yes, unlike you who never vents and keeps his cool, all the time.”

“Hey, I am cool, alright? I’m perfectly fine right now, aren’t I?” Komi shrugs his shoulders, looking to the side. Yamato takes this opening to do something he’s been thinking about lately, and kisses Komi’s ears. He starts at the bottom, sucking the lobe between his lips. Komi changes between his touch, squirming inside Yamato’s arms. His breath becomes heavier when Yamato licks the ridge up to where the ears become reddest, and bites in the hard top, trying to be gentle. 

“God- _fuck_.” Komi mouths the last words, his head pressed against the wall when Yamato bears down on him. Komi’s hand reaches up to his shoulders, not pushing him away. Yamato doesn’t like crinkles in his uniform, but he allows Komi’s fingers to curl over the white shirt, pressing. The touch and the closeness make this all way too hot, and Yamato lets his hot breath ghost over Komi’s cheekbone when he needs to breathe. 

Their tongues dart out towards each other, and today’s noon make out session continues until the end of their break. 

*~*~*

It’s break time during practice, and most of the first years are down on their rears, limbs outstretched, and throats too parched to talk. Once they’re able to hold civil conversations, Bokuto asks what everyone had for dinner yesterday. Their social butterfly of the team hung around specific people more often than not, and as first years doing well in the team and having the will to become the best, Bokuto liked their presence more than pestering setters to toss for him. After Yamato summed up the dinner his grandfather made yesterday, Bokuto’s head swings around to Washio, who mumbles that he went to a fast food place yesterday. 

Bokuto and Konoha flock towards Washio and his bad decisions, and Yamato watches the display to his right with a fond expression, until Komi’s voice speaks up to his left. 

“You live with your grandparents?”

“For now. My father doesn’t get a promotion inclusive job transfer until next April, and because I wanted to go here, they settled me at my grandparents who live closer to Tokyo center.” Yamato explains, balancing his water bottle on top of his right knee. He doesn’t mind it one bit; his grandparent’s house is spacious, on top of a hill and surrounded by greenery. Describing the surroundings to Komi, who isn’t looking at him as he re-ties his shoelaces, Yamato answers questions about the ward he lives in and his family, as well as the chores he does in the weekends.

Before he can ask any personal questions of Komi, the coach shouts them back to work, and they have to get up and face another set of drills. Bokuto demands Washio to do the double amount because of his fast food outing, and Konoha laughs out loud when Washio agrees. Meanwhile, Yamato holds his hand out to Komi, who looks at it for a few seconds, then uses the offered hand to stand up.

Yamato’s hand burns when he does the serve practice for the drill, but not as much as when Komi’s palm brushed it. 

*~*~*

It’s way too hot to walk up a mountain in this heat. Haruki stands still halfway, seeing wooden houses up ahead. Far ahead. He’s surrounded by nature he hadn’t deemed possible this close to Tokyo. Sweaty, due to be out of breath, he sits down on the grass, placing his schoolbag and extra carriage next to him. He could have biked here, had he know there was an easier path to go through. All in all, he hadn’t thought he’d spend the free Saturday afternoon going out of his way after all. 

Grumbling, one eyebrow up, Haruki stares at the road. All this time he’d been wondering if it was worth it in the end. His favourite character quote had been ‘do or do not, there is no try’, and doing what his heart demands is a must. It had been driving him crazy in the past few days, and it thumped out of control when anything Sarukui-related made an appearance. 

Pressing his lips together to keep his worries hidden behind gritted teeth, Haruki stands once more, using the deodorant always packed in bag, and recovers the monstrosity he bought earlier. 

“C’mon asshole, you can do this. You go there, you say what’s what, and done.”

His only problem is that he never asked Sarukui’s house number. He had hoped that the customary name signs would guide his way, but so far he’s passed three houses and saw none. Kids who were playing outside, carefree and wild, started to gather around him. He didn’t like asking for directions, and especially not from anyone pintsized. Walking on as stubborn as one can, he tries to find people who aren’t of old age or under 9 years old. In fact, he’d hoped to see Sarukui lingering about. After no such luck, he curses the heavens for outskirts old people houses, and stomps on to the next best house, knocking on its front door. He’ll just _ask_ one of these neighbours if they know where Sarukui lives, or which old people here have a live-in with fluffy hair and long ass lashes and a sweet, erotic mouth and-

“Komi?”

“Huh?”

The images in his mind conjure from behind the door, which Sarukui opens. He’s dressed in a dirty white shirt, covered in grass stains and soil. His black, knee-long shorts are rolled up, and he’s barefoot. Immediately on sight, Haruki looks to the flora next to the porch, gripping the bouquet in his hand harder. The bouquet is what he’s here for, after all.

“Here!” Haruki thrusts the bouquet of flowers which names he doesn’t know but looked colourful and fun into Sarukui’s face. Petals fall of it, grace his wrist. Sarukui says nothing. When Haruki looks up, he can’t even see the other’s face behind the flower bouquet he bought. 

“Uh… ehm. What’s this?”

“Whaddya think it is, dumbass, I’m giving you flowers!” Haruki’s nerves are being tested. He’s on edge and the situation in his mind doesn’t come to terms with reality playing out. His father and brothers have taught him to present the person he likes with flowers, so since Haruki could think, he’d given boys and girls alike flowers he found on the playground or a single rose on White Day, anonymously, of course. He had never bought a bouquet such as this, which was bigger than his head. 

“What for..?” Sarukui still hides behind the flowers which he isn’t taking, and it drives Haruki insane. Brows furrowing, teeth gritting, he attacks the chest, letting more petals and green leaves litter the front door. 

“The fuck are you asking all these stupid questions, stupid!? Aren’t you a nerd, can’t you use your goddamn brain-”

“Yammun, what’s all this noise? Did you invite a friend?” An elderly lady resounds from behind Sarukui, who turns around and apologizes for the loudness. He doesn’t close the door or hides Haruki away though. Haruki listens to Sarukui explaining a surprise visit, and if his grandmother would mind. She doesn’t and goes further away, saying she’d tell his grandfather to wait till they can plant the radishes. 

Slightly red in the face, Sarukui looks back at Haruki. The latter hadn’t seen such blatant discolouration on the other’s face before. At last, Sarukui takes the bouquet out of his hand, and invites him in. 

“I like daikon radishes a lot, so my grandfather bought seeds to plant together. We were working on the garden anyways and… yeah.” Sarukui held the bouquet in his left hand, rubbing the back of his neck with his right. They stand in his hall for a moment, Haruki taking off his shoes. He hadn’t thought this far. His mind had made jumps from rejection and him needing comfort food, to acceptation, and him lying on Sarukui’s bed. The in-between or other sort of consequences hadn’t occurred to him.

“You eh, want some tea?” Sarukui asks and Haruki doesn’t know if he should nod or push his flowers once more into Sarukui’s face. Or if he should kiss him. If he was upset, kissing Sarukui helped to cool his head. 

Sarukui’s hand is on his chin, then, tipping it up. Before Haruki can make up his mind, soft lips brush his.

“Thanks for the flowers.” Just in time, Haruki blinks his eyes open to see Sarukui’s lips, the ever-present curl of them, the secrecy as to where he’s having a good time, an inside joke happening, or a façade going on. Before Haruki can ask, Sarukui vanishes into the kitchen, his neck as red as all hell, and the flowers secure in his arms. Haruki hears teapottery being moved, and Sarukui yelling where the vases are. 

Deciding not to run away from his feelings, Haruki mumbles ‘sorry for the intrusion’, and follows into the kitchen. He’d like to figure out how the hell Sarukui’s mouth and mind works, and wants to make him smile, for real, and know when it’s genuine. 

*~*~*

Two weeks later, and everything clears up in Haruki’s head. He finally understands so many ‘romantic’ things, without believing he’s part of the sappy culture. All the times he thought kisses longer than 10 minutes were impossible and boring, evaporate when he’s unable to stop pulling away from Yamato. They don’t get stuck together for dares, and Haruki doesn’t have to be calmed down as much as before. They kiss at the most random times. Often, they keep them as short as super quick pecks to whatever parts of the faces they can get to. When there’s time to spare, it’s mostly Haruki who brings Yamato to a secluded area, enabling them to sink into each other’s arms behind a lone tree during breaks. 

Yamato’s lips are Haruki’s recent addiction. He loves the changing tastes after lunch, or the obligatory morning pecks, when Yamato tastes of mint. They don’t have to be too passionate all the time. But not a day goes past without a ‘hello’ and a ‘see you tomorrow’ kiss. 

Before practice starts, Haruki steals him away. Yamato’s hand is bigger than his, warmer, and more calloused due to spiking and serving. His fingers are also the ones being taped more often. As a libero, Haruki uses his lower arms more, and only his fingertips when he does overhand receives. The differences between them, which had previously been a thorn in his eye, were now things Haruki enjoyed getting to know. 

“Komi-yan, what about practice..?”

“Relax, we always make it on time, right?” Haruki grumbles, his eyes darting from one secret place to another, all occupied or clouded with people. He hides his hand, still holding Yamato’s, behind his back when they pass groups of friends. Taking Yamato further and further away from the gym and the other school buildings, he finally finds an empty tree with enough bushes and shades to hide out at. Yamato sighs, shoulders low, half exhausted from both the thrill and the way Haruki pulls him around. 

Seeing an opening, Haruki grins and pushes Yamato against the tree, his hands over the track uniform and quickly unzipping the white Fukuroudani jacket. His hunger for kisses comes second to the need to touch Yamato; in the past few days, Haruki’s hands have tried (and mostly succeeded) in touching him in other places, in a very different way than only holding on or brushing the skin. Giving Yamato, who stares back at him blankly, a dirty look, he lets his fingers tipple over the strong pecs of his boyfriend.

“You’ve been using the weights lately?”

“Mhnn, a little. Bokuto said Washio and I ought to use those as part of our training.” Yamato’s hands fidget, touching the tree behind him. Haruki thinks he’s trying to hold back, a total waste of time. He’s also catching Yamato’s eyes staring at his mouth, which makes him grin. Leaning up, Haruki watches Yamato lean down so they can brush their lips together, and Yamato freezes under the touch. Holding his wicked hands still for a few seconds, Haruki opens his mouth to utter an appreciative moan into Yamato’s sweet-tasting mouth. 

The hands on his body must have been too much, because Yamato takes them off his chest. Instead, he brings Haruki’s hands, fingers intertwining, down to more secure places, besides their bodies. Haruki has been low key trying to get their fresh, exciting relationships to the next level, while Yamato’s responses tended to be hard to read. Whenever he felt too hot, he’d let Haruki know, without saying a word. Haruki needs to become and expert in body language, and find out what Yamato likes, what would get him interested in moving forward. He’s so eager to explore Yamato more, both in mind and body. 

“Sit down.” 

It takes Yamato, lips still brushing mildly over his cheek, a few seconds to come back into the here and now to respond. “...Huh?”

“Sit down, my neck is starting to hurt.” Haruki lies, eager for the extra few centimeters over Yamato to execute his plans. Yamato does as he’s asked, sliding down the tree. Haruki smiles, liking the way they moved together, fit together. He’d never thought it would be possible to have such strong feelings. When he sits down on Yamato’s lap, he feels tension beneath. He sees the tiniest movement of Yamato’s fingers clenching together.

Smiling, Haruki first needs to calm his partner down. He lets his hands go over the shoulders, shake them for laughs, and tickles Yamato below the armpits. Yamato in return bends forward, his giggles featherlight and endearing, as he headbutts Haruki’s collarbone to make him stop, his hands gliding over Haruki’s thighs, up to his lower back. He stays perfectly sweet above Haruki’s training shirt, who keeps his own Fukuroudani jacket looped around his bag. Once Yamato’s mood is lighter, Haruki leans in, kissing his bottom lip in tender, light ways. 

“Touch me.” He whispers in a smile, hovering over Yamato’s cheek, going for the ears. It takes patience, but at last Yamato’s fingers uncurl and reach below his shirt, splaying across Haruki’s lower back, palm to skin. Yamato’s thumbs go for the dips he has there, testing out how far he can push before Haruki reacts.

Gazing down into Yamato’s eyes, Haruki runs his own thumb over the enticing lips, pulling the lower one down to kiss him again. Yamato closes his eyes after a while, and Haruki does the same, loving the closeness. Although the position would suggest filthier things, Haruki keeps his hips still and his hands in a safe zone. Even with his entire body on fire and wanting to do more than just this, he has to ease Yamato into it, needing him to want it as much. 

They end up holding hands again, Yamato press their palms together and their fingers intertwining loosely. They have to go soon, so Haruki stops their pleasurable pasttime and gazes into Yamato’s eyes, their foreheads touching. 

When his nose itches, he has no second to react. He can’t warn Yamato or lean back. Instead, Haruki sneezes, glad enough his germs don’t hit Yamato, until his head collides with his love’s and smacks them together. Yamato releases a painful groan, holding Haruki’s shoulder as to prevent a second sneeze from hurting them both. When Haruki’s teary eyes open, he sees an angry red mark on Yamato’s forehead where they collided.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. Are you okay!?” Haruki’s hands are all over Yamato’s neck and jaw, frantic. He kisses the burning red mark, not caring that he might have one himself. Yamato doesn’t seem badly hurt or dizzy, and even smiles.

“Say, how long did you wanted to do this?”

“What-”

“You probably wanted to headbutt me when we weren’t… friendly.” Yamato laughs, his hands holding Haruki’s wrist. The scratchy white sports tape brushing the bones beneath. Haruki starts laughing too. 

“Maaaybe. But man, I’m really sorry. Are you sure you’re good to go?” Haruki asks, slides off Yamato’s thighs and helps him stand up. He looks fine enough, not wobbly in the least. His eyes also look clear. 

“Mhnn, yeah. We should go to practice, I think.” Yamato leaves his jacket unzipped and retrieves his bag off the grass, removing any grass blades off the back of his uniform. Haruki didn’t care if his knees were green, but agreed that it might be too tale-telling. Hair, clothes, and faces in order, they walk to the gymnasium.

Before they come into view of their teammates, Yamato brushes the back of Haruki’s hand to gain his attention. He doesn’t look at him when he speaks. 

“For the headbutt. You know you do owe me, right?” 

Haruki can’t help the wide grin spreading on his face. His tactics finally seem to pay off. “Sure, whatever you want.”

*~*~*

Most of Yamato’s friends are in the library. Washio and Konoha, both immersed in musical worlds coming from their ear-plugs, keep their focussed heads low and deep inside the books they’re studying. The two of them have found room at one table and share a couple books with their table mates. Bokuto is close to them, explaining biology to a few of his classmates as a tutor, his voice low and kind.

Not wanting to be distracted, Yamato put himself down at the other far end of the library, back turned to all of them. They have important tests coming up, needing good scores so they can all go on the Fukuroudani group alliance training trips. Even their own team had to do well scholarly, or they weren’t allowed to come with. 

The bane of Yamato’s existence and lowest score in tests were economics. He had trouble remembering dates and which were important to remember. To pull through, he made charts, timelines, even had Washio draw on them to memorize people and abstract matters easier. 

What didn’t make studying easier was Haruki’s antics. First, Haruki had been angry with him. Upon entering, the book Yamato reserved a few days before had become available, and Haruki found out it was the same book he needed too. Being strict, Yamato had told Haruki he'd give it once he was done with it. What happened afterwards was that, before Yamato could even sit down and start studying, Haruki had dragged him into a corner of their library, licking his lips.

_”Kiss you for it?”_

The baser side of his being, mostly situated below the belt, had Yamato wanting to agree. Haruki’s winking, the open mouth, the hands on Yamato’s hips… Those were hard to counter. Yet, the smarter part coming from his brain, had given Haruki a firm no. There had been some struggle getting Haruki off him, and when another person rounded the corner of their not so empty aisle, Haruki had to let Yamato go.

But then the kissing diversion hadn’t been the end. When Haruki, pissed at him for not falling for the seduction, had run off, Yamato had been able to read through three pages and make notes, until the devil appeared back at his side.

“Help me find the other book, the first edition? It’s not perfect but at least I have something to do while you’re slow-reading your way through this one.” Leaning with one hand on the page of Yamato’s book, he didn’t allow Yamato to read further on and became a real menace. Giving him a look that should make him step back, Yamato shakes his head. They keep their conversation in low whispers.

“There’s a librarian, ask her.”

“You’re the one who won’t share! C’mon, stupid.” Haruki kicks the side of Yamato’s chair, a noise louder than their whispers. Not wanting to gain anyone’s attention, much less the strict librarian’s, Yamato leans back on the chair, asking which book Haruki needs. It turns out he doesn’t know.

“The title changed. It had a blue cover, I think.” 

“That’s… Komi-yan, that’s not helpful.” Feeling his skin prickle when Haruki shrugs, Yamato uses the time to get Haruki’s hand off his book without ripping it. Haruki blinks his eyelashes, not offering up any other help. Yamato knows where the first edition should be, but as so many people were lending and returning these books, some of them lazy not to put them back in the right place, it was often lost. 

Losing his patience way later than what Haruki’s standards were, he crouches low, arms on the table and his head perching on top. He gives Yamato a longing look, who won’t give in, but who is also unable to keep on studying when the lips he likes to kiss a lot pout the way they do now.

“Okay, kissing bribes won’t work on you today… how about… I suck you off under the table? No one is watching anyway and-” 

What other reasoning Haruki has behind his ridiculous idea, Yamato won’t be able to find out. Not when he slams the book onto Haruki’s forehead, in dire need to make him shut up. It feels like a good retribution for the headbutt earlier this week. He doesn’t allow his face to show any reaction to the offer. His mouth doesn’t allow for whispering anymore; he leans forward to where Haruki holds his head in pain, and hisses at him.

“Are you out of your mind!? We’re in public you stupid shrimp-brain. Not to mention, we never-” He can’t finish the sentence, heat out of his words. Yamato sits back, while Haruki grins and wiggles his eyebrows, pain forgotten. Yamato shakes his head. He points behind Haruki, to an aisle next to the one Haruki had wanted to make out. 

“The book you’re looking for is usually there, top shelves. It should be in the middle, but god knows where other people misplaced it.”

“Shit man, I can’t believe you’re turning down- alright alright, I’m going!” Haruki hisses, hands up in the air when Yamato is ready to strike down again with the economics book. He watches Haruki leave, hands in his pockets, and his shoulders lower than usual. He looks defeated, and it makes Yamato feel bad. Trying to read the words on the pages is impossible like this. After a few minutes and Haruki no returning, Yamato casts his eyes to the ceiling. 

Sighing, and hearing Haruki grunt in the distance, he puts his book on the table and leaves, deciding to help Haruki.

When he comes to the aisle, a marvelous display greets his eyes. He’d said top shelf, not thinking about how it’s easy for him to reach those, no trouble. Haruki however, was way too short to even reach the shelf below it. There’s a stool at the end of the aisle, which is ignored by Haruki’s headstrong and prideful person. Crossing his arms over his chest, Yamato leans against the closest bookshelf, watching Haruki jump up and down, fingers merely touching a blue-covered book. 

Back to Yamato, Haruki creates distance between him and the shelf, walking backwards. Being a wing spiker and engrossed in volleyball plays since he was little, Yamato recognizes an approach when he sees one, even as Haruki never had to do it. Before he gets hurt, Yamato announces his presence, putting his hand Haruki’s shoulder and stop him from running. 

Haruki’s first reaction to being touched by someone unseen outside of the volleyball court is a mean look which is usually followed by a slapping hand, but when he sees Yamato, he shrugs him off, and kicks his sheen.

“Don’t pity me.” He says, stubborn to perform the jump. Feeling bad, Yamato holds his waist and kisses the top of his ear, knowing the diversion works best and makes Haruki flustered. Not letting go of his small boyfriend, Yamato walks towards the shelf, reaches up to get the book, which is indeed the first edition of the one he’s reading, and gives it to Haruki. When he’s sure no one is about to head their way, he kisses Haruki’s nose.

“I’m sorry. Let’s study together and… we’ll do something you want afterwards.”

Haruki looks down to the blue cover and breathes out, then nods. They disentangle and walk back to where Yamato’s stuff is, and Haruki plops down beside him. Yamato had wanted to study in peace and without distractions, but when Haruki puts his utmost concentration into studying, he’s dead-silent, and his brows furrow as if he looks angry at the words he needs to get into his brain. It’s a cute distraction, and Yamato finds himself not minding it.

Even the hand between his legs, lightly caressing his thighs, only makes his shoulders tense a small bit. Yamato looks over to Haruki who watches him for an reaction, then they lean close so Haruki can whisper in his ear.

“I still owe you for the headbutt you know. My offer to suck you off stands, too.”

Dodging the kiss which Haruki wants to give, and which would be way too dangerous in its context, Yamato shakes his tomato-red head. He’s not ready for that kind of stuff, although he’s given it some thought. Haruki retreats his hand, but Yamato catches it, and holds it under the table. They cannot study like this, but Yamato has to let Haruki know how nervous he feels, and that the reason to declining Haruki lies solely in that. The thumb stroking the back of his hand lets him know it's alright, even more so the bright smile on Haruki’s face.

Haruki kisses his knuckles, then let's go to take up his pen again and resume his note-taking. Yamato smiles, too, feeling relaxed. He watches Haruki to make sure they’re good. But then shock runs over his spine.

“Are you writing in the book with _a pen_!?”

They’re nearly thrown out for that outburst.

*~*~*

Tests done and their asses back at practice, Haruki and Yamato say their greetings a little earlier than usual once they’re changed and ready to leave. They decline Bokuto’s and Konoha’s invitation to go to the supermarket at the station closest to school. Friday evenings are times where Yamato’s home is empty of any family members or frequent visitors, and he invited Haruki to come over. For a week, Haruki had asked him about the still standing offer/debt, a dirty grin on his face. Yamato hadn’t been able to come up with anything after the Kiss and Headbutt moment, and had hoped that inviting Haruki to his house would inspire him. 

Instead, his palms were sweaty. On the train ride home, he declines Haruki’s wishes to hold hands in secrecy under his track jacket, and they don’t talk much. He knows of Haruki’s unspoken wants to do more than just kiss, and their heavier make outs have led to hands going lower than what Yamato’s face could handle. He’d always believed in a certain order of things (hold hands, kiss, do this, do _that_ ) and what time between those actions would be proper. Even so, Haruki’s firecracker personality, which was easy going and confidence-filled, begged for more. Each and every week after their first kiss at the bike shed, Yamato felt that he too wanted more than just know what Haruki’s tongue felt like in his mouth.

He’s relieved the hillside gives off cool breezes to calm his ears the hell down, and that the lights out here aren’t too bright for Haruki to notice. 

Reaching his home, he fumbles with the keys, nervous to bring someone over without anyone present. Haruki seems calm, his hands in his pockets, and he gives the insides of Yamato’s house a look of familarity. The flowers he’d brought had died already, but Yamato had kept the petals and dried them, without anyone in the know. The living room is out of bounds in case anything unusual happens and his grandparents come home early, but Yamato isn’t ready to bring Haruki to his own room just yet. Instead, he dives straight ahead into the kitchen where Haruki had been before. He lingers inside a safer place than being close to Haruki, asking if he wants any refreshments.

“Your grandma’s potato juice, if you have any left.” Haruki comments from the kitchen’s entrance, not one toe overstepping it’s boundaries. Yamato nods and takes out two glasses, saying how his grandmother always makes a new batch. Haruki had potato juice here last time too, after the tea and the make out on the kitchen counter had heated them both up. 

“The hydrangeas your granddad planted, are they blooming well?” Haruki asks, bending forward on his toes and bouncing back on the ball of his feet, watching Yamato shake his head.

“They start blooming in early summer, mostly. Wanna see the others?” Yamato keeps his voice light even while his heart beats up a storm in his throat. He hands Haruki his glass, who takes it without a word and looks up to him. It feels awkward standing in the kitchen, with Haruki not moving, although he knows where the garden is and could just go and check for himself.

“No, not really.” Haruki sounds neutral, almost bored. He takes a sip of the juice Yamato hands him, and then Yamato’s freed hand, twirling himself under the lifted arm. Placing Yamato’s arm, which hand he holds, onto his shoulder, he peers into the hallway on the right. “I wanna figure out which door leads to your room.” 

“Eh- yeah, bags?” Yamato croaks out, as their bags are still at the entrance. Haruki looks up ahead where they left them. 

“Shit, almost forgot.” Not letting go of Yamato, he makes quick steps forward, not allowing for arms to be retrieved or any movement outside of the walkline. He even goes as far as putting his glass on the wooden floor, picking up both their bags, not allowing Yamato to carry his own, then taking the glass back into his hand. The traditional house is ground level only, and leaving the entrance hall, the living room behind that, and the kitchen on their right behind them, Haruki walks into the long hallway leading to the bedrooms. 

They round a corner, Haruki trying to sniff out where Yamato’s room would be. He ignores the first door, then the second, standing at the third for a while. He kicks the door, looking over his shoulder to Yamato. When he speaks, his breath moists over Yamato’s arm, which he won’t allow to be gone off his shoulder.

“This one.”

Yamato grins, shaking his head, having to tease Haruki in a light voice. “Wrong.”

Haruki clicks his tongue and looks at the two doors at the end of the hall, of which one is a bathroom. “Well that one’s not it for sure.”

Laughing, Yamato steps forward to hug Haruki one-armed from behind, dragging his arm over the other’s chest. He then guides Haruki one door back, pointing at the volleyball charm hanging high above it. Haruki, mad that he didn’t see it because of his height, cusses lowly under his breath. He lets go of Yamato’s wrist in order to open the door and enter. 

Yamato’s room is a mish-mash between a clean, studious side and an unkept bedroom side, perfect split in the middle where a low table stands. Remaining in the entrance, Haruki looks from one to the other. His hand finds Yamato's wrist again, and then goes towards the unmade bed without a second thought.

“Huh, I kinda expected you’d all sleep on futons.”

“The other rooms have it yeah, but when I moved in, my granddad built me a bed frame-”

“What, he made this himself?” 

Yamato’s chin rests on Haruki’s curly hair, affirming it. Laughing and cursing once again, Haruki mumbles about not wanting to break it. The comment makes Yamato’s ears catch fire, and he pushes his chin down on Haruki’s crown, at the same time when he pushes the hard side of his knee against Haruki’s soft side, making him buckle, laugh, and groan out loud.

“Fiend!” Haruki laughs, unable to fall over into the bed as Yamato still holds him. They relieve themselves from the bags and the juices. Yamato attempts to sit down at his table where they put down the glasses on coasters, but Haruki sits on his bed, patting the space beside him. He looks at neutral as in the kitchen, when he didn’t want to take a look at the garden. It had been Yamato’s own idea to invite him over, yet now he felt like chickening out. Had it been an unspoken agreement? Had he’d been supposed to prepare something special, or attempt to clean up? Maybe he should have given this more thought and not hope for miracles of the erotic kind.

All those questions run through his mind when he walks over to his own bed, and he forgets them all when Haruki pulls him down, makes him lie on his back, and immediately drags his own smaller body across Yamato’s larger frame. 

The kiss feels like every other kiss before, same as the hands move in a formation familiar to Yamato. Haruki guides Yamato’s arms to loop around them, wanting to be embraced. What’s unfamiliar, apart from being horizontal for the first time ever, are the legs straddling him. Yamato can feel Haruki’s toes curl at his knees and thighs, and he feels the press of Haruki’s manhood stronger against his own crotch. It freezes his movements, and he stops responding to the kiss.

Haruki bites his bottom lip, then slides further down to kiss his neck. It’s a new area, and Yamato finally understands how Haruki feels when he attacks the sensitive ears. As Haruki’s tongue laps at the soft skin, Yamato feels a shock shaking his entire system, and he shudders below Haruki, who doesn’t bite him or holds him down. He’s a simple lightweight and Yamato could push him off if really needed to. But the beating heart Yamato feels against his chest is heavy enough to make him immobile.

“Sshhh, relax. You’re stiff all over. Well, not everywhere.” Haruki grins up to him, kissing his jaw, and below. His voice is a mere whisper, less sure, but also hotter against Yamato’s neck. “You can. If you want, y’know. Be a little more- if you know what I mean.” 

Yamato knows, and his face turns red. He holds Haruki where he lays, his hand going into the orange-brown curls to prevent Haruki from looking up. There’s no movement between their hips, and the absence of it makes it all the worse for Yamato, who wouldn’t know how to react. He doesn’t know if he’s not ready, or if he’s scared to continue. The latter scenario, continuing, should be exciting enough to make Yamato want it, but he’s never been with someone like Haruki, let alone a boy, let alone doing stuff like that on this bed. 

He also never liked someone as much as he liked Haruki, and he wants to please him and make him happy. Choking up, he freezes when Haruki pushes through the strong arms, and kisses his ear.

“Listen, if it’s too much, we can do other things. We could just hang out and watch a movie, if you’d rather.” Haruki offers, his voice hoarse. When he lifts himself up, Yamato has his hands on his still, and knows his face hasn’t calmed down a bit. “I really like you, though. Guess my seducing tactics were a bit too much.” 

Looking into Haruki’s eyes and the hurt smile, Yamato’s hand acts on automatic, pulling him down for a kiss. Haruki sinks back into him, slowly. Their tongues are heavy between their mouths, inseparable. Letting the hot, wet touch drive him, Yamato tells his head to relax, and his body to enjoy it. His hand moves to the place Haruki had wanted him to touch him more often lately. Knuckles push at the shirt fabric, until his hand can caress the naked skin hiding there. Haruki’s working hard not to let his baser instincts overwhelm him, and Yamato is glad when he doesn’t move his lower body too much. 

The deep kiss continues, only pausing for them to change the angles of their heads. Haruki’s hand drifts over Yamato’s ribcage, not trying to tickle him for once. It’s a flat-handed, touch-starved need that glides up and down, further down and up again. Glad it’s on his right side and not his left, where his heart is, Yamato actually waits for Haruki to do more and undress him.

Instead, Haruki sits up, thin spider-web-like lines of saliva pop between them, and the sight of a red-cheeked Haruki, his hair tousled and his pupils dilated, sends messages straight down to Yamato’s center. He hardens and Haruki doesn’t even seem to notice. Haruki looks forlorn on top of him, dazed. He doesn’t glance away from Yamato’s eyes, and his blinks are slow and few in between. The fingers go low, tucking at Yamato’s shirt, without lifting it upwards.

“Can I take this off?” 

As much as Yamato’s lower parts scream yes, his heart is too mixed and wild to offer any help, and his head is just blank. Mouth gaping, he can’t even clear his throat. 

“I don’t know, Komi-yan. Can you?” He speaks without thinking, needing to say dumb words to release his inner tension. It breaks Haruki’s trance, who snorts four seconds after hearing it. Then his hands are below the shirt, not to get to off in any way, but to pinch Yamato’s nipples. The fight that ensues has Yamato yelping in surprise, closing his eyes when Haruki’s impish grin is way too close. Not letting him get the upperhand by tickles, Yamato uses his strength and Haruki’s midget-height to throw him off and under him. 

Trapping the smaller body below him, Yamato plays dirty, too, his tongue licking around at Haruki’s ear, who cries out in joy under him.

“No, no no no, Saru, ssshit! Oh my god Saru, stop!” Haruki laughs, his hands not pushing him away though. Holding the chin and one shoulder down, Yamato’s mouth closes over the shell, licking the ear entirely. Haruki falls still under him, shuddering when his sensitive spot is violated and laid bare. His legs slide over Yamato’s thighs, and one of the feet hooks behind Yamato’s back, pulling him in. When leans his entirety over Haruki, Yamato stays on his elbows in order not to crush him. Haruki maneuvers himself to grind his ass against Yamato’s half-hard member, who doesn’t know how to react, and bites down Haruki’s earlobe instead.

Then Haruki’s hands hold his face, and he smiles sweetly below him. “Hey big guy.” 

Yamato couldn’t prepare himself, knowing it’s not only his body length Haruki refers to. But he’s pulled into a sweeter, lighter set of kisses, and Haruki keeps his hips still this time. 

“Offer to watch a movie still goes. Seriously.” Haruki says between nibbling Yamato’s top lip and alternating licks to his bottom one. Yamato believes it’s the safer bet, but also likes to honour Haruki’s wishes. When he licks Haruki’s ears, a thousand different sensation travel through his being, and he can imagine what doing more than just kiss would entail. He lacks the experience to go further, though.

“Did you bring anything… dirty?” He needs to know the contents of Haruki’s bag, and how far he planned this. Haruki laughs, shaking his head, then asking in a serious tone if Yamato wanted him too. He laughs again when Yamato can’t answer, and they sit up, hot, bothered, and hearts featherlight with love.

“My dad let me borrow his dvd-player, so we can watch here.” Haruki, as cool as they come, crawls over the bed and retrieves his bag. He then throws a tube-like object at Yamato’s chest, who catches it. He uncaps the nameless white tube, while Haruki’s ears are still red from being attacked earlier. “And to answer in full for my ‘dirty’ cause: I did bring stuff but… not explicitly to use tonight.” 

A cold, see-through liquid squishes over Yamato’s fingers, his brain seconds too late to understand what he’s holding, and what he’s doing. His neck feels hot, and his brain suffers damage when he glides his thumb over his fingers, spreading the lubricant. He’d never had anything like this in his hands before. Haruki, his cheeks now matching his ears, gives him a batch of condoms, too.

“You see. For here. I’ll have some at my place and in my bag, if we’d. You know?” 

Using a clean hand to cover his face, Yamato bemoans Haruki’s name, suffering a hot face. Haruki, laughing, cleans his hand for him with a tissue. Moving from the bed to the table, Haruki sets up the dvd player, folding the top lid open to watch a movie on, telling Yamato to bring his pillows and blankets. They both down their potato juices in order to cool off their heads. Like so many times before, Haruki directs how Yamato has to sit, making a fort of pillows and blankets all around them. Before Yamato knows the plan, he has a warm Haruki between his legs and his arms, cozying back all over him.

“Ah, this is the life.” Haruki grins, crossing Yamato’s arms over his own chest. Sitting like this calms Yamato’s lower parts a little, and he hugs Haruki from behind. As the movie’s logo’s and opening credits flash over the screen, Haruki nudges the back of his head against Yamato’s collarbone.

“Hey, if you’re ready, we can totally take off our shirts now.”

Hiding his face in Haruki’s curly hair, Yamato shakes his head, feeling another kind of heat return to his arms. 

“I don’t think I’m ready for anything yet, Haruki. But… I’d let you know, when… I think.” Yamato’s unsure if his feelings are visible enough for Haruki to understand he’s not saying this because he’s playing hard to get. His confidence just isn’t there, unlike when he had to kiss Haruki for the first time. He feels more like a puddle of useless goo now. Haruki’s sweet laughter rings true through him though.

“Sure sure. I’ll make you want it and be unable to keep your hands off me, Saru.”

“You’re pretty sure that I’m going to ravish you…” Yamato remarks, not sure if he would ever be as wild as Haruki. 

“Pfft, obviously. I am a fucking delight, after all.”

Yamato can’t help himself but snort, and receives an elbow to the ribs for the trouble. It doesn’t hurt one bit. 

*~*~* 

The bruises still show on Monday, when their extended physical education class is held at the swimming pool. It’s getting warm again, and so the first years combined baseball session was cancelled in order to swim in the huge pools the school owned. Everyone except members of the baseball team dislike the decision. Haruki has learned, for Yamato’s sake, to keep his dirty grins out of sight of the first years who try to make trouble, but cannot keep the words inside his mouth when he’s surrounded by friends. 

“Serves them fucking right.” 

He touches Yamato’s bruises, which he created himself. Some came from normal kisses, when Haruki managed to hide under Yamato’s shirt and kiss him there. Others had come from the small lovey-dovey wrestling on the bed and on the floor, and one from lovey-dovey violence elbow-to-rib tickles. Few remarked on the bruises, and most of the volleyball team thought it came from practice. Only Konoha had flicked Haruki’s neck looking at Yamato, which made them both flustered a little.

They’re waiting for Washio to be done changing. While Bokuto and Konoha stand outside in the sun, ready to swim and race each other, Haruki and Yamato stay inside, waiting for their friend. He’s usually not this slow changing when they meet in the classroom before practice. 

At one point, Yamato goes over to him, speaking softly. Haruki doesn’t mind the sight; Washio, despite his height, is a really cool guy and totally chill to hang out with. He knows Yamato is his, and after last Friday, they’ve promised themselves to the other. It was an initiative on Yamato’s behalf, who told Haruki about harbouring both fears and wishes to be with him, more than just ‘together’ in the sense of the word.

Haruki would wait for Yamato. His patience for Washio however, grew paper thin.

“What’s taking so long…” He grumbles, about to walk up to Washio, who finally manages to get into his swim trunks. Yamato gives them both a warm smile, then signals Haruki to come closer. The room is emptied out, most of their year already in the water. 

“Jesus, don’t tell me you can’t swim.” Haruki asks, chin up. Washio shakes his head, then points at his hair.

“He didn’t bring hair product today and doesn’t want to go around school lacking his signature look.” Yamato explains, head inclined to the side. Haruki rolls his eyes, but does the duty Yamato doesn’t voice out loud. Not having his own wax with him today or in his shoe locker, Haruki strides back, taking Bokuto’s arm and pulls him aside. Konoha comes too, always curious. 

“Bokuto, did you bring your hair gel today? Washio’s chickening out of swimming ‘cus it’ll fuck up his style and might influence his image.” 

Of course Konoha laughs out loud. People like him and Yamato never understood the importance of having good hair or putting some work into it. Bokuto, thank god, nods. 

“I have it in my schoolbag. The girls also brought their electronic goods, so we can dry up and style it afterwards.”

“Fantastic.” Haruki grins, sticking his tongue out to Konoha. “I’ll let our big chicken know.”

When he turns around, he slams into Washio face first, who was pushed to the exit by Yamato’s gentle hands. Washio apologizes right away, Haruki waving it off, and they make their way to the pool. Whatever drills or practices their teacher had in mind, it all goes to naught as the first years, having this rare session, jump in and out the swimming pools, playing around more than actually swimming their rounds. 

After the combined effort of the Fukuroudani volleyball first years, they dump Washio into the water and mess up his hair for the first time ever. He looked like a sad little dog, betrayed by his masters. They lose Bokuto and Konoha as they race each other, and Haruki allows both Yamato and Washio to wet his curls and mess it up. 

The water is perfect during this sudden warmth. Haruki joins in the races, happy to beat Konoha more often than losing to him. Every so often, he finds Yamato and presses him against the poolside, hands below the water teasing around and deflecting attacks to the lower regions. It’s all in good fun, and Haruki stops whenever he thinks Yamato feels uncomfortable doing this here. 

One hour of fun later, they head out to an early lunch, given the fact that their teacher had given up on them. Needing to fix their hair before exiting the pool, Haruki, Bokuto and Washio walk over to the girls who offered their blow dryers, Konoha and Yamato on their heels. Dried off and towels around the necks, they go back to the changing rooms, empty as most guys are still at the pool. 

Yamato stays with Haruki because of boyfriend reasons, and Konoha announces he needs to see the hair rituals for himself. 

“How about you do something useful and get Bokuto’s gel, fox-face?” Haruki grumbles, arms crossed as Washio and Bokuto blow dry their hair at the same time. Konoha acts like he hadn’t heard him over the sounds. Haruki’s hands tickle; during the hour in the pool, everyone except the swimming team, challenged each other in the sport none of them had in common, racing 200 and 400 meters against each other. Not winning everything, their volleyball club had at least a victory over the baseball gorillas, who took the loss hard. 

Konoha had told them they were probably used to losing, if they would be allowed to play in their team. Haruki had been charged enough to fight, but wasn’t allowed by Yamato’s palms holding him back. Nonetheless, it was some time ago he had a fight, and Konoha was testing his nerves. Still, they were on the same side, and Konoha actually goes to get the hair gel in the end. 

While the other two dry off their hair, Yamato inches closer to him. Their relationship was known to their friends, and Yamato had overcome an inward shyness of showing it off. Weird, as they had kissed in front of them at their first time. Haruki doesn’t mind though, and leans into the body behind him, wet hair pressed under Yamato’s chin. As the class was super loud, they’d hear anyone come here. A few minutes later Konoha returns, who shrugs when he sees Yamato and Haruki chest to back, holding hands.

“Got your magic stuff.” Konoha says, and Bokuto is the first to finish drying his hair. He bounces over to Konoha and they find a mirror, Konoha engrossed watching the making of the horned owl hairstyle.

“Haru.” Yamato whispers in his ear. Haruki is unable to inch away from the touch, his whole body’s sensitivity going up a notch. Yamato knows too well that his ears should be off limits with people around. Even so, hearing his first name, shortened, out of Yamato’s mouth and so close to his skin, melts Haruki’s annoyance. 

“How long does your hair take?” Yamato asks, arms letting go of Haruki, who whines after the lost touch. He turns around, stating it should be only 10 minutes. Nodding, Yamato sits down inside the changing room, letting Haruki leave and blow dry his own hair. His head feels light. There had been something undecipherable in the way Yamato said his name, and the question that followed after. It made Haruki try to dry and style his hair faster, which he did. 

Bokuto and Washio took longer, and by the time Haruki is done, Yamato says they would go to the vending machines for drinks. Konoha looks around.

“I can come too.”

Haruki knows something's off when Yamato waves it off with a smile that isn’t genuine. Konoha doesn’t notice it, shrugs, and says he wants a multivitamin juice. They agree to meet up at the canteen later. Too eager to know what Yamato’s real plan is, Haruki follows him out as they’re fully dressed. 

Recess still hasn’t started when they walk to the vending machine at the other side of building. Buying three juices, one yogurt drink for Bokuto, and a strawberry drink for Haruki, the latter lets Yamato decide the course of action. After all, they have a good reason to decline Konoha to join them. As expected, they don’t go back school straight away. Yamato walks to the tree where they’d been once before. Haruki remembers every time his lower regions came in close contact with Yamato’s, and this tree in particular reminded him of sitting on top and being more in control. 

Without a word, Yamato puts his bag and the drinks down, then turns to Haruki, rubbing the back of his head. Feeling that this is as far as Yamato can go without ending up flustered and stuttering, Haruki puts his stuff down too, including his school blazer and tie. He always took those off when getting ready for battle, needing the freedom to move around. Then he walks over to him. Haruki’s arms go around him in an easy and swift, done-a-hundred-times motion. Chin ramming the chest, he looks up to Yamato, brows furrowing.

“Say, what happened to that dare-devil who challenged me for a kiss, huh? You had more confidence back then.” 

The sigh is deep and all over Haruki’s face, when Yamato drops his head down to let their foreheads touch. It was true: Yamato had more kissing experience, but it seemed he never went further than simple touches, because he stopped everything Haruki wanted to do below their clothes and beneath the beltline a lot. Yamato swallows once and then returns Haruki's embrace, making their fronts lay flush against one another.

“It’s not as easy as you think, alright. I really like you, Haruki.” Yamato’s annoyance is more to himself than towards Haruki, who understands Yamato’s boundaries; he was confident in kissing because he’s done that before. Everything else was new ground. It pissed Haruki off a little, who was in the same boat, adrift at a stormy sea. 

“Damn you, I like you too! It’s not like I’m not scared, but I fucking trust you dammit. Do you know how embarrassing it is to practice on a banana and knowing what the hell a ‘gag-reflex’ is?” He says more than he meant to. Haruki’s eyes widen at his own outburst, same as Yamato who appears to have stopped breathing for a second. Haruki curses against Yamato’s throat, his forehead sliding over his boyfriend’s chin. He had felt stupid trying to gain some sort of blowjob knowledge off a fruit, but when he thought about Yamato…

“You… did that for me?”

“I _tried_ doing that for you. It’s not fucking easy, but I don’t know what else to offer and make us… go forward in this.” 

One second he feels ridiculous, and sorry for himself, the next he’s lifted off the grass, pressed against the tree, and Yamato’s lips miss his as butterfly light kisses pecker his entire face. In any other situation, Haruki would struggle and fight, demanding to be let down. Inside these arms, he couldn’t help it; Yamato was the only one allowed to lift him up, after all. 

Making this position easier, they move their arms and Haruki’s legs; Haruki’s arms go around Yamato to keep himself up, and his legs are twisted around the lower back. For once, Yamato lets go of himself, grinding his crotch against Haruki. The feeling is amazing, much better than their Friday night try-out on the bed. It’s not about seducing or being seduced anymore. Or trying to push Yamato’s buttons to the brink. When Yamato’s tongue darts deep into Haruki’s mouth, they lose all inhibition, undressing each other until Haruki has to be let down again. 

“Same as last time, sit down.” He tells Yamato, his face beet-red but determined. Yamato does as he’s told, if less graceful, his shirt rumpled and the belt unbuckled. He looks the beginnings of a proper mess, and Haruki licks his lips. Whatever emotions he first had about wanting a fight triple when he positions himself between Yamato’s legs, and unzips him. To soften the haywire, shy emotions of his partner, Haruki leans over him, kissing his lips as a distraction from undoing the trousers.

“Y-you two, Haru. Grass stains.” 

They have all the time and privacy in the world, and no appetite for lunch. The original plan had been to do this earlier, inside a house, on top of a futon or a bed. The imperfection of the timing makes Haruki’s heart beat faster in excitement. They help each other undressing, being more naked in pants pulled down and shirts being unbuttoned than at Yamato’s place. This time, it’s Haruki who is the more nervous one. He doesn’t like having a big mouth and then nothing to show for, and so, with his hand on Yamato’s slightly intimidating bulge, he keeps leaning over and kisses his boyfriend. Meaning to ease both their minds, he finds the sweet spots which makes them both go hazy. 

He loses his balance and coolness when Yamato, overwhelmed by the touch on his manhood, grabs Haruki’s wrist. There is no such thing as a beautiful dive to be done here, and Haruki’s pride gets a dent when he falls on top of Yamato, who doesn’t seem to notice the accident. Lying half on him and trying to sit up normally, Haruki hears Yamato’s erratic heartbeat against his ear, and feels his throbbing member at his stomach. 

Not liking to lose or to be seen as weak or timid, Haruki pulls himself together and lowers Yamato’s boxer shorts, who closes his eyes once his dick is exposed to the fresh air. Giving the hard member a firm look, Haruki takes Yamato in his two hands, and lowers his lips over the glans, giving it a few experimental licks. It doesn’t have any of the sweetness or easily broken softness of a banana. 

“Oo~oh.” Yamato stutters, his hands bracing themselves on Haruki’s shoulders. The touch eases his mind, and he closes his eyes and lowers his mouth. He cannot take as much of Yamato as he wishes, and instead uses his tongue and hands to help out. It work wonders: Yamato becomes still below him, and only his hips twitch every so often. He’s total silence after the first moan, and his breath comes out in short bursts. Haruki starts to enjoy doing this after a few seconds of getting used to the taste. It lacks the sweetness he usually finds in Yamato’s mouth, and it’s a completely new area he’s been wanting to explor.

When his tongue grows numb from the constant swiping, Haruki’s head moves up, sucking in air and hollowing his cheeks. He has no idea what a guy would like, and solely goes on what he’s seen online, as well as listening to Yamato. His pleasure is of prime importance, and Haruki has a newfound love for the sounds Yamato makes, and the way his fingers curl in his shoulders. Deep sighs leave the funny shaped mouth he came so addicted to, and Haruki starts smiling while he sucks Yamato off. He knows it doesn’t matter that he has no technique or real clue as to what’s he’s doing, as long as he keeps his wet tongue rolling around the tip of Yamato’s cock. 

Unable to actually do it, Haruki’s pats at the remaining closed buttons of Yamato’s shirt, and basically tells him to unbutton them. Once the white fabric spreads, Haruki can let his hand go over it, caressing the hard hip, the stomach to the right, fingers going below the torso to hold on. 

Soon enough, the breath inhales from above him become sharper, and the hips, which Haruki has to hold down, shake more and more. Haruki opens his eyes, half lids, glancing at the soft, dark brown pubic curls, as they trail upwards to the belly-button. He doesn’t want to make his throat take in too much, as he thinks the gagging sounds it would create could be a turn off; the last thing he wants for Yamato.

“Ha-Haru…Stop.” Yamato moans out, a few octaves higher than his usual voice. Blinking, Haruki pops his mouth off the wet cock, glinstering in precum and his saliva. He doesn’t stop his hand moving up and down the firm base, or his thumb from following the thick vein. 

“Huh…” His own voice is hoarse, on edge, and rather sexy sounding. Haruki’s lids are too heavy to open up fully, and he licks precum up his bottom lip when Yamato just stares at him. When Yamato doesn’t say anything, more likely to be incapable of talking, Haruki resumes. A few seconds later, he knows why Yamato wanted him to stop. Connecting the dots, Haruki keeps his mouth from grinning, and he speeds up his movements in order to make Yamato come. He doesn’t allow Yamato to cover his mouth, and takes his hand to intertwine their fingers, palms touching the grass blades below. Haruki has such a hyperfocus on his surroundings and the feel of it all that he starts moaning around Yamato’s thick cock, creating a funny feeling vibration.

“Heh, oh fff-” Yamato cannot bring the curse word over his lips when he’s shaken by gasps, trying to push Haruki off when he comes. Haruki holds firm, making sure not to bite down when thick fluids spit around in his mouth and throat. The taste is tangy, bitter, and he furrows his brows. He doesn’t let his mouth go off the tip a second time though, not until he licks it all clean and keeps the writhing body below his hands still. 

When he looks up, Yamato’s eyes are closed, his temples sweaty, and his whole face and throat are flush with warmth. He looks perfect to Haruki, who still holds him in his hands. 

“Give me… a minute.” The voice is what sets Haruki on edge, noticing his own manhood tight in his underwear. They don’t have tissues, but Haruki did a well enough job to not let a single drop go anywhere on them. When Yamato’s body relaxes, he looks like human goo pressed against the tree. Haruki wants to excuse himself and relieve himself out of sight, yet Yamato’s hand won’t let go of his. “That felt too good…”

It should be illegal for him to open his eyes the way he does. Under the erotic scrutiny, Haruki can’t help but throb with want. Below the wild, dark brown hair, Yamato’s half-lidded eyes are ablaze with a fire Haruki hasn’t seen before, even at their first kiss. It invites him, and getting rid of his boxershorts, he straddles Yamato’s hips again, only one layer of fabric between their genitals. Yamato embraces him and kisses his face, as Haruki won’t allow Yamato's tongue to taste himself inside Haruki’s mouth. 

“Your turn.”

“Whoah, wait, no? Dude I practiced this, you can’t just-” Haruki’s protest falls short when Yamato’s hand goes inside his boxers. It’s a total different feel in every way possible, and Haruki shrinks his body, twitching all over. He always knew what Yamato’s hand felt like, from holding hands, from having them roam his body during make outs, from when he pulled his hair during French kissing. Feeling the same hand around his dick now, slowly finding a rhythm and jacking him off, has Haruki make himself smaller. His body falls over Yamato’s, and the naked skin beneath him, as well as the hands on him, invite him to lie down and relax.

Yamato’s hand is larger than his, covering more skin in one go. His hands have always been made of tougher stuff than Haruki’s palms, and the rougher touch feels amazing. Even the tape around two separate fingers feels good. Haruki lifts his hands up to hold onto Yamato’s shoulders, keeping his eyes tightly shut. Their noses brush together, a cute moment in the midst of all the lewdness. Haruki, who pleasures himself at least three times a week, a little more often now when he thinks of Yamato, doesn’t think he can recall ever feeling better than this.

His mouth falls open and he knows that the noises he makes are a fucking disaster, but hearing and feeling Yamato’s smile against him make it all better. He also needs to show him how pleasurable and enjoyable this is, otherwise Yamato’s fear to do more wouldn’t ease.

An arm loops around his back, pressing him close. Yamato can still move his hand, and he starts whispering nonsense inside Haruki’s ear. By this time, Haruki is unable to hold back; he leans against Yamato’s head, letting his ear be ravaged by words and kisses and the total heat that is Yamato’s mouth. The pure thoughts of his dick being jerked off, the tip of it touching Yamato’s stomach every so often and dripping on top of him, have Haruki’s knees shaking under the strain. He lets his hands go below the white fabric of Yamato’s shirt, caressing the sies. He knows he will come on top of Yamato’s stomach any second, and that Yamato wouldn’t allow him to get off anywhere else.

Haruki’s hand goes below Yamato, needing to hold him, trying not to rub himself all over the hard stomach right below his cock. At the same time, Yamato’s arm eases off his back, to bring his other hand under Haruki’s shorts on the other side. He grabs one side of Haruki’s ass, pulling and scratching. The tongue and the words at his ear don’t stop until Haruki’s mouth gapes wide up and he keeps his high pitched moan at Yamato’s neck, gasping. 

"Yamato..!"

His mind is a state of bliss for a minute and a half. Yamato hugs him close again, cleaning up between them and kissing Haruki’s hot face. Haruki can’t sit up on his own, knees still weak from the way he knelt down all the time and from Yamato’s ministrations. A spring-fresh breezes runs over them, a sign they have to get dressed as to not get sick. 

Haruki can’t look at Yamato for a few moments, until they’re fully dressed and he loops his tie around his collar. Yamato kisses his neck, hugging him from behind, saying thank you ten times without the actual words being uttered. Looking over his shoulder, Haruki meets the sweet mouth, exchanging one more brush of lips before they have to get up.

“We should go back and join the rest in lunch. Fucking hell, I’m sleepy and hungry.” He bemoans on the way back, his feet still wobbly. Yamato laughs, his ears still a little red from the exchange.

“I won’t let you nap in class again, Haruki.”

“Tch, asshole.” Haruki grins, showing Yamato the middle finger, who has the audacity to kiss it.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts I used for the second half of the fic when my beta told me to go on (I originally had it end at the first kitchen scene):  
> -["we argued so much during a class discussion that we both got kicked out and we’re still arguing outside of class”](http://lindsayjillians.tumblr.com/post/114192842228/my-college-experiences-that-would-make-great-fic%20)  
> When I looked for prompts, I found out that I used the last one in this post without thinking. It's the exact same, I'm laughing.
> 
> -[prompts 2, 3, 4, and 9](http://quoth-the-ravenclaw.tumblr.com/post/134385821929/library-aus-based-off-my-experiences-working-in-a)
> 
> -["Imagine your otp gently touching foreheads with half lidded eyes and soft smiles while they gaze lovingly at each other, holding each other’s hands delicately. Now imagine one sneezing and smacking their heads together"](http://rosieblogsstuff.tumblr.com/post/135093370532/imagine-your-otp-gently-touching-foreheads-with)
> 
> -["Ok but which part of ur otp unironically calls themselves “a fucking delight” and which one immediately snorts"](http://ephemeraltea.tumblr.com/post/129652217106/ok-but-which-part-of-ur-otp-unironically-calls)
> 
>  
> 
> If you think this fic was an enjoyable read (and I hope it made people laugh), please consider leaving a comment. It means a lot to me! I'd definitely reply as soon as authors are revealed, cus I don't like the anon life.


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